Chronicles of Persia
by Dannaron
Summary: Kyashahara, the Prince of Persia, has travelled to the distant city of Azad to attempt to secure a marriage with the Sultan's beautiful daughter. But a betrayal later and he has just one hour to save the lives of himself and the princess.
1. Arrival in Azad

**Chronicles of Persia**

My name is Prince Kyashahara. Though this name is now recanted in songs and legend across the length and breadth of my realm, I am no fool, and I know that all glory is but fleeting. I am writing this now in the hope that my quest shall not be buried underneath the Sands of Time and forgotten by all. My journey is a long one, and at times may seem impossible, but I swear to you; every word is true.

**Chapter 1: Arrival in Azad**

Word had spread far and wide throughout Persia that the daughter of the mighty Sultan of Azad, Sheherazad, had reached a marrying age. Excitement swept through the Empire: Azad was a kingdom that existed south-west of the borders of Persia, in the vast expanse of desert known as Arabia. It was well known for being the most powerful, wealthy and fabulous city in the entire known world, said to be greater even then my home in Persepolis. Since the Sultan had no male heir and it did not seem that he likely he ever would, whoever married his daughter would inherit the kingdom. Naturally I was interested in such a prospect and my father even more so and thus set off on a journey to Azad with a small company of armed retainers. Had I known what was to transpire I would have bought more, but then I had no idea.

As soon as the kingdom came into sight it took my breath away. The palace, which was large beyond all that I had been taught possible, was built into a cliff face that dominated the city. The town itself seemed to simply extend on from the marvellous citadel to form a huge, opulent and by all appearances impregnable fortress. I had heard of the wealth and power of Azad of course, who hadn't? The fanciful tales that travellers weaved about its cloud-piercing towers and of the magical waters of life that were said to be hidden deep within. But never in my wildest imaginations did I think that such a place could ever have existed in the real world, and as I continued towards it I began to wonder whether or not I was dreaming.

My arrival had all the grandeur and splendour as befitted one of my rank, and I could tell that even the inhabitants of this fanciful city were impressed by the power and the wealth of Persia. I rode at the front of the company upon nothing less than a tame elephant bought with incredible price from the distant realm of India, revelling in the attention and awe that preceded my arrival. A few other princes and petty lords of other realms were arriving at about the same time as I and for the same reason but all paled in comparison to my own entourage. The news spread soon that I had arrived and in return I learned the news of the Sultan's absence. It seemed unclear exactly as to why he had left and this fact unnerved me. Nevertheless I was granted a private audience with the princess and was eager to show her my obvious power and prestige.

My first meeting with the daughter of the Sultan was an extremely unusual one. She seemed not in the least impressed by my wealth and power, but did seem to acknowledge me as a person. For my own count, I knew that I would willing give away all the marvels in Persepolis if her own radiant beauty could be mine. Unfortunately our first meeting was a horrible clash of egos that left both of us smarting: I found her to be childish and insufferably bossy, while she seemed to think I was arrogant and mean spirited. The second meeting went much better however, as we grew to know each other, and on the third meeting on the third day both of us felt true love blossom. However outside this budding romance much darker plots were now in motion...

In the Sultan's absence the Grand Vizier of the kingdom, a wizened old man and rumoured sorcerer by the name of Jaffar, was the de facto ruler. Although I had heard of his vast wisdom and intellect abroad, I personally found the man to be an infuriating upstartish busy-body who lorded his knowledge and power over everyone. I also learned that Sheherazad hated him even more than I did, and distrusted him greatly. She said her father had only kept him on in order to keep an eye on him, and confided to me during our third meeting that she feared her diligent lord had finally been fooled by the crafty Vizier and that was why he was absent.

On the same third day Jaffar shocked everyone. He said that before the Sultan had left he had given him a decree that stated if a suitor had not been found by the next full moon then Sheherazad would marry Jaffar and therefore the decrepit Vizier would inherit the kingdom. It was already the night preceding the full moon and there was no time left. Sheherazad was outraged, saying that she had never been told of this limitation. Jaffar apologized but defended himself by saying that the law had always existed if she had just asked to see it. Sheherazad countered with a desperate ploy, saying that she had chosen her suitor already: me, the prince of Persepolis. When Jaffar said he had not been informed of this the princess said that the decision had always existed if he had just asked to hear of it.

I had no sooner heard of this new development in the castle when suddenly I was ambushed by the castle guards. My retinue and I fought bravely but we were outnumbered and surprised and so cut down to a man. Even in such an underhanded move though Jaffar did not dare strike me down for fear of the retribution of my father so instead had me arrested and thrown into the castle dungeons, saying that I had attacked the castle and attempted to abduct the princess. I would be kept in prison until a caravan could be organised to send me back home to Persepolis in disgrace and chains. This was something I could not stand.


	2. The Race Begins

**Chapter 2: The Race Begins**

I was thrown into a miniscule cell and told to wait there until the guards arrived to lead me out of Azad in shame. I refused to let this happen, so in my cell I began to work out a plan of escape. It was a very poor one by the end, but remained the best that I came up with under such pressure. While concocting this desperate gambit, I overheard from the guards Jaffar's plan. He was to threaten the princess with death within the hour if she did not marry him, so either way he would have total power within Azad. This would allow him to defeat the Sultan when he returned and to become ruler of the most fabulous kingdom on the desert sands. I swore to myself that I would make him pay for such impudence.

I knew I would need some time in order to pull off my plan, so I set it into motion as early as I could. I scaled the wall of my cell by jumping onto it, then launching myself onto the opposite wall, and then throwing my body in the other direction. I then used the rough-hewn stone as best I could to stretch myself across the roof like a spider ready to drop on the guards the moment they came through the door. By the time I had finally managed this I could hear the guards approaching my cell, and could see the door swing open. Three guards walked in cautiously and began to look from side to side in abject fear, thinking I had vanished. If I had been able, I would have enjoyed letting them search until they rotted away, but my arms were already beginning to give out. I let my feet fall off from where they were and swung forwards, kicking one of the surprised guards in the face with both feet. The other two were momentarily shocked and unable to do anything, which was just as well. I managed to dodge past the clumsy dive from one of them and started running. Behind me I heard the sound of pursuit and a sword being drawn.

I did not look back but instead just continued to run, one of the guards only a few paces behind me and slowly gaining with sword drawn. I think it was a miracle and nothing else that let me see the spike trap in front of me despite all distractions before I ran into it. I had been shown many such traps in Azad already, and knew exactly how they worked. The floor and walls surrounding them were filled with hidden pressure detectors. As soon as anyone got close, they would inevitably trigger the trap and run straight on to a forest of metal spikes that shot up without warning from the ground.

Without breaking stride I leapt only moments before reaching it, and the trap sprang to life underneath me. One of the flat sides of a spike grazed my leg as I jumped over. I had come within an inch of losing my life and told myself to be much more careful from here on in. I took the risk of looking behind me as I continued running and watched as the pursuing guard also leaped straight over the spikes without breaking stride and continued to chase me. At this point I swore loudly.

When I turned my head around I had just enough time to skid to a halt before I ran into a wall and then I turned and headed down the corner. An idea came to me suddenly and I flattened myself up against the wall. The guard came racing down at breakneck speed, too fast to stop himself when he noticed me. I stuck out my leg in his path and he tripped spectacularly, flying forwards onto the hard stone and sliding across the floor. Seeing no other way to go I jumped over his prone body but his hand shot out and tripped me up. Fortunately I was better prepared than he had been and took the fall with my hands while kicking out at his head with my held foot. It connected and he let go just long enough for me to stumble off. Already the guard was getting to his feet so I continued to race down the hallway, despite the sharp stitch I felt in my side and my growing tiredness. I saw an open gate just ahead of me and realised I was going to make it: the guard was too far behind to stop me! That's when the second guard, the other one which I didn't kick back in my cell, suddenly appeared in an adjacent hallway and stepped on a pressure plate on the floor. The gate began to rapidly close to prevent my escape.

I was tired, hungry and dejected. My mind and body were both on the brink of collapse. Every muscle in me told me to give up and return home to Persepolis: I was beaten. But then, seemingly by chance (for I never bid the thought come), I remembered the smiling face of Sheherazad. My legs coiled like springs in response and I dived forwards, sliding underneath the closing gate by a margin of no more than a quarter of a foot. I rolled to my feet and heard shouting on the other side of the gate and it slowly, very slowly, began to open. Not wasting a breath I jogged down the corridor, leaving my pursuers far behind.

At the same time, in Sheherazad's bedroom overlooking the city…

The princess was pacing the floor in front of her bed, irritated. Her bedroom had never felt so stifling now that it was being used as a prison. There were only three exits: through the door, the secret hatch behind her bed and off the balcony. Since the first two were guarded by two of Jaffar's best men both options were certain death, and the balcony was a sheer drop about twenty stories to the streets of the city. The princess of course had a spy network in place across the palace, almost all of which had been routed out by the guile of Jaffar and he had capitalised on this well by discovering and guarding the one secret entrance to the room and allowing nobody in or out. No news could reach Sheherazad without Jaffar himself delivering it.

The only hope Sheherazad still had was Kyashahara. The prince who had seemed so cold, so haughty and so like all of her other suitors yet, hidden deep beneath all this, she had glimpsed a person of genuine kindness and no small measure of courage. It would be nearly impossible to get past all of Jaffar's defences however, even with his entourage, so she hoped he wasn't going to try anything rash.

At that moment the door unlocked and swung open. Startled out of her chain of thought, Sheherazad looked up and saw Jaffar sweeping into the room, the door closing tight behind him. At this moment Sheherazad hated absolutely everything about the Grand Vizier without exception: his turban, his goatee, the exact pigment of his eyes right down to the pointed ends of his shoes.

"My lady, I'm afraid I have some very troubling news." He said, bowing in mock respect. "Forget the niceties you backstabbing coward, they're like a snake's forked tongue sliding from your mouth." Sheherazad spat, her eyes glaring unblinking hatred. The Vizier righted himself with a smug smile that the princess promptly began to hate. "My lady's words hurt me, always such a loyal servant of her father. But a loyal servant I shall continue to be, and as such I will ignore the insult. I am afraid to announce my lady, that your chosen suitor prince Khshayarsha has done something rather rash."

Sheherazad remained silent. She knew that Jaffar was mispronouncing the prince's name on purpose just to rile her, and hated him for it. There was a pause while Jaffar waited for her to say something but when she remained silent he continued with a slight shrug. "It seems that, in an insult to your father's trust in him and to your choice of him as suitor and future sultan, that he attempted to attack the palace of Azad and abduct you by force. As no doubt you are aware, this was a very foolish thing to do and in my opinion proves him to be little more than the spoilt young fool I thought him to be."

Again, Sheherazad said nothing and waited for Jaffar to continue. There was a long pause as Jaffar did the same thing but she out-lasted him. "Of course I could not stand by and let him do something so destructive, so rash, so I was forced to apprehend him and throw him into the dungeons. I cannot kill him because his father is quite the powerful lord and seems to be blind to his son's many inadequacies, so may well attack us if we act within rights of our own law. Instead I shall have to deal with him as one deals with any misbehaving child and send him home to his parents. This of course means that he can no longer be your husband, being banished as he now is from the city. So your father's law shall now apply and leave me as your default husband. At least something good can come out of this tragedy, no?"

Sheherazad could take no more of this and struck Jaffar across the face. It was no dainty tap either but a blow so full of force that the old man was knocked over. Jaffar stood up and now his smarmy control was gone completely and a blazing rage remained. "So much like your father you impudent brat!" he snarled and raised his arms. There was a loud bang and the princess was pushed backwards three metres by a sudden force, sliding to a painful stop on the hard tiles of her bedroom. "Then so be it." Jaffar took an ornate hourglass out from his robes and laid it on the ground in front of him. "Now I will have my revenge for years of being ordered around like a dog by a senile old fool and his beautiful little pet!" Jaffar barked, "Yes my lord, no my lord, three times full my lord!" He hissed in a mocking voice. "No longer. You now have a choice _my lady_. Either marry me within the hour or it will turn out that princess Sheherazad, smitten by the absence of her father and the betrayal of her lover, committed suicide in the night and left just the humble Vizier Jaffar to inherit the entire kingdom." Sheherazad looked up, astonished and furious, at the towering Vizier. Jaffar bowed theatrically to her, turned and stormed off.

The princess picked herself up slowly. She could not believe that her father the Sultan and herself had let Jaffar plan this for so long. Nor could she believe how easily he had just rendered all of her hopes useless. Sheherazad shook her head and remembered the words of her father. Never give up hope, even when things seem at their darkest. Just say 'courage' and wait out the night, and then it shall be dawn again before you know it.

Sheherazad looked down at the hourglass in front of her, and saw the first few grains of sand slowly begin to gather at the bottom of it.


	3. A Prisoner Seeking An Escape

**Chapter 4: A Prisoner Seeking An Escape**

By this point I had stopped running and had been working my way through the dungeons for about a minute or two. I stopped to rest, knowing my pursuers were far, far behind and with no chance of catching up. Doing this was a mistake.

When not occupied with keeping alive or with the gradually fading but still present stitch in my side my current situation began to dawn on me. I was in the dungeons of Azad, a palace which I had been in and seen with my own two eyes to be huge beyond what people thought possible in the real world, with guards all along the way trying to kill me and countless booby traps between me and my goal. And my goal? To climb up to the princess' bedroom, where I had heard my love was being held, in less then an hour and to somehow get her out of danger. Then the full implications of this hit me. An hour. I had only one hour to get from my current position (underground in a dungeon) up through floor after floor that would be full of enemies, traps and who knows what else, all the way to the bedroom which was high, high above the city streets. Should I fail, both I and Sheherazad were going to die.

Two thoughts went through my mind at this point, one after the other. The first was that I should give up right there and then as my task was impossible. The second was that giving up was not one of my options: it would result in Sheherazad's death and quite possibly mine as well. The only option, the_ only _option, was to continue on and hope against all probability that I be able to succeed. It is true that at this point I felt despair, but soon my mind was far to occupied on keeping myself alive to feel such again.

I opened a gate and dropped down the ledge to the level below me but could see no real reason why as it was a dead end. The gate slammed shut behind me, which was fine as there was no reason I could think of to retrace my steps, yet for the moment it seemed to leave me trapped. In despair I ran to the opposite wall, and as I passed over the intervening floor it suddenly shook and cracked beneath my feet. I had just enough time to get to the other side of the tile before it crumbled into pieces and fell away. I made a note of this. Edging warily forwards I looked down to the smashed pieces of stone on the hard ground below me and contemplated the drop. Slowly and carefully I lowered myself off the ledge, hung off it for a moment, then closed my eyes and let go.

The landing on the cold stone stung my feet but caused no permanent damage. Looking up I saw a long hall way in front of me that looked like the way out of the dungeons. Behind me there was a wall but with a ledge on it narrow enough to scale. I was just about to head happily for the way up when I heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps coming down stairs. A guard had heard the rather loud bang of the tile against the ground. Quickly I turned and headed away from the corridor, uncertain of where to go but knowing I couldn't stay, and headed towards the ledge. I scaled the wall and pulled myself onto a new floor just as I heard the sounds of the guard looking around behind me. I knew I had to put some distance between him and me so that I wouldn't be discovered and looked ahead. The walls of the floor I was now on seemed to be slightly older and less sturdy then the ones on the previous floor, which was definitely saying something since the dungeons, and indeed the entire palace was very poorly looked after by Jaffar and was falling to pieces. There was also a pit halfway across that looked quite deep but only about three feet wide. I jumped over the top of it easily and landed in front of a gate, on a button. I wished vigorously that the gate wasn't so horribly loud as it opened and stepped through.

Not far ahead of me the path abruptly dropped away without stairs onto a lower level. I jumped down and looked about me. In front of me there was another pit, this one wider and deeper, with a closed gate on the other end. Behind me there was a button. The tile just one step away from me was supported by nothing and as I landed particles of dust and even pieces of stone fell from it. I took a deep breath and stepped on the button behind me, turning to see the gate rise up in front of me. I took as much a run-up as I dared, stopping just short of the rickety tile, and leaped the gap. However I hadn't had enough speed by my jump and fell just short. Even now I'm not sure how my flailing arms managed to grab the ledge as I fell past it but they did, and with a little effort I pulled myself up and saw the gate was now starting to close again. It was hard to suppress a yell but I managed and rolled underneath it.

I began to walk forwards and noticed the floor below me was vibrating. Quickly I sprinted over three tiles as they crumbled and fell to bits beneath me, smashing on the floor below. As the last one fell I briefly wondered who on earth had designed these labyrinthine and inhumane dungeons and what they had been smoking when they had done so but then hurried on. Where I was going to I did not know, and I did not like the fact that I was going further down rather then up, but the corridors here only went in one direction so I followed them. I opened and headed through one more gate to see a short drop below me. This part of the prison was clearly ancient and ruinous, and had not been used for some time. Carefully lowering myself to the bottom level, I noticed a skeleton lying in the corner that was so old by now that it was almost dust. In one of the unfortunate's hands it held an old, rusty blade of outdated design. I sighed, decided it was better then nothing, and put it in my pants (as I had no belt at the time). Despite the discomfort this caused, and the frailty of the weapon, I felt emboldened to finally be armed and thus capable of doing more then simply running from the palace guards.

Climbing back unto the path, I immediately set about retracing my steps. Moving backwards over the way I had come was even more difficult then the first journey over had been but I shall not go into the details of it here as I am sure they are of no interest to the reader. After what could not have been more then a minute I arrived at the same tunnel I had dropped to originally, leading towards the only stairs which could take me up to the next level. To my irritation I noticed that the guard still remained where I had heard him before, and as I arrived he drew his sword and shouted a challenge. Faced with no other option I drew my own blade and held it in a defensive stance I had been taught during my studies in Persepolis. I was tired and wielding a low-quality blade but I had survived thus far already and was determined to continue to survive to rescue Sherharazad and myself from our plight. The guard rushed forth and swung his sword experimentally forwards, to test my defences. I jumped backwards with a laugh, letting the blade sweep past me. Immediately I counter-attacked with a quick slash from my own blade towards his unguarded left. I was rewarded with a cry of pain from my opponent as I carved a shallow but long cut in his side. While he was momentarily distracted, I stepped forwards to close the distance and swung with all of my might, burying my sword two-thirds of the way through his neck. The guard made a slight gurgling noise and toppled backwards, dead almost instantly. I stooped down and took his blade and his belt to wear it in, then stepped over the body and continued on my way.

Unfortunately I saw that the door the guard had come through had closed behind him. For a moment I was gripped by horrible panic. After all of my efforts to escape, was I now trapped permanently? After everything I had tried, had my plans come to naught? Desperately I looked around the room for something to open the portal with, but ahead of me was a dead end and behind me the corridor I had come from. Faced with despair I urged myself to calm down and look at the problem objectively. I told myself it would be completely illogical for the guard to follow me down here if it meant that he would also be sealed in with me and therefore there had to be a way of opening the door from this side. I again scanned the room, this time being sure to look more carefully. The gates and doors such as this one in Azad were all opened by means of a pressure plate, so there had to be one around somewhere. It was then that I noticed the ledge that hung above corridor I had come from. Filled with anxious hope, I scrambled up and grabbed hold of the edge. I felt my weight pull it down with no small satisfaction and heard the gate open behind me. I quickly dropped off from the ledge and ran through the door, climbing the stairs to the next level, one step closer to freedom.


	4. The Long Way Up

**Author's Notes: **Hey all.If Kyashahara and also you, gentle reader, will just excuse this humble interruption, there area couplethings that I wish to say.

First of all, I would like to thank Shy FX, my one and only reviewer. It's good to know that there is someone out there in the world actually reading this. bows thank you kindly for your efforts. Also, for those feelings of nostalgia: the opening chapter of the race itself is more or less exactly what happens in the game, down to the last vibrating tile. From this point outwards, however, I begin to take more and more liberties with events (what's the point of writing something that already exists?) Not, in hindsight, really nessecary for me to break forth wall to point out... Meh, whataya going to do?

But now the prince is already beginning to shove me out of the way, I will relenquish the pen and allow him to resume the story. Enjoy!

**Chapter 4: The Long Way Up**

As the winding staircase climbed ever upwards I began to ponder how many precious seconds were slipping away as I scaled to the next level of the palace. I only had one hour to get to the very top, and already I had wasted at least five minutes just making my way out of the first floor. Pressed on by this knowledge, I began to run.

Near the end of the stairs I felt the floor slide down under my feet as I pushed down another pressure plate and the gate in front of me opened, revealing another level of… dungeon. For a second time, but not for the last, I swore loudly as I realised how far I had yet to go. My desperation turned to rage and I became as a man possessed: nothing would stop me from reaching my goal. Though already tired, I found strength in my new drive and pushed onwards, running down the hallway that was open to me. At the other end of the dimly lit passage I could just make out the figure of one of Jaffar's guards, his sword drawn, rushing down the far end of the passage towards me. As I saw him my teeth drew back in a snarl. I unsheathed my blade and yelled my rage at him. He responded with a challenge in his native tongue, shouting out the name of a foreign god.

It all happened in an instant. We ran straight past each other: there was a flash of blades and I felt a horrible pain in the side of my leg. My charge turned into a stumble and I then completely collapsed onto the floor in front of me. My opponent had ducked under my own sweep for his head but his lower attack had hit home. With a bark of laughter the guard wheeled around, skidding to a halt and hurrying back towards me, his sword raised for a killing blow. Now fearful, I pulled myself into a crouch upon my uninjured leg and raised my blade to parry his blow. The guard redirected his blow skilfully, hitting my stolen blade from underneath and sending it flying out of my hand. Immediately I lowered my better leg to the floor and swept the guard's feet from under him, tripping him over. He gave a cry of shock mingled with pain as he struck his head on the wall on his way down. Scrambling over the ground like a rodent, I retrieved my sword then turned and struck out at him in blind fury. The guard parried it clumsily with his blade while trying to get up, but I did not yield or slow down and immediately slashed at his knee with all of my strength. There was a sickening crunch as the sword travelled halfway into the joint, rendering the limb useless. The soldier screamed in pain and momentarily let his guard down. It was all I needed: immediately I drove my sword upwards and into his heart, then with a slight twist drew it out. I lay there for a moment panting, blood now flowing from the wound in my leg and staining my white prisoner's pants red.

With a grunt I drew myself off from the floor, standing on one leg and leaning on the wall for balance. Looking back I don't know how I ever expected to carry on, injured as I was, and but for the kindness of fate there would have been no chance at all of completing my mad errand. But at the time I would have tried to continue even if I had no legs at all, crawling forth on only my arms. As it was I began to do something almost as dire and hopped forwards on one foot, using the wall for support. But I only went for a few extra steps before the floor underneath unexpectedly collapsed and I fell my own height onto the level below, landing harshly on my already injured leg. Although at the time it caused me excruciating pain it was this fall which saved my life. As I turned around to try and stand again I noticed a statue of a woman carved in silver in a style I was unfamiliar with. The figure was kneeling and offering a tall-necked, stoppered bottle which was decorated with complicated geometric designs. Faintly inscribed upon the floor in front of the idol, hidden by a layer of dust and rock, was a symbol used once by the Egyptian people of the past to represent life in their dead religion. I began to assume that this was a goddess of a heretical faith plundered from some distant realm, but then on the very same statue I spied the faravahar, the reminder of mankind's purpose on this earth: that is, to serve and worship the Wise Lord. Entranced by the beauty and the mystery of this object I for a time forgot my pain and the situation I was in and I made my way closer to it.

Only when my eyes were just inches away from the figure did I notice it was covered in script of a score of different tongues. I could see passages in languages I had learned: Avesta, Farsi and Cuneiform, whilst others scripts which I could recognise but not read: hieroglyphs, Greek and Ugaritic and then there were still others in tongues I had never even seen before. All this writing was so fine and so miniscule that I could not make out what it said in the dim light. Curious but still cautious, I gently lifted the bottle from the figure's hands and removed the lid. Instantly a cloud of red vapour rose from within accompanied with a scent of spice. Again I was curious, and though also afraid I could not prevent myself putting the bottle to my lips and drinking from it a long draught. No sooner had I done so that I felt a great warmth sweep through me, filling every hair on my head with energy. All pain and weariness was forgotten, and the unchecked flow of blood from my leg stopped as if suddenly plugged. The wound itself closed, leaving nothing but a dull ache and an ugly scar, a memory of which I bear to this day.

I must now stop for a moment for I know that already you probably think me mad, or trying to prove that I am something I am not. The only thing I can say is this: though I know that this tale sounds impossible, and I would have been the very first to say so had I read it before I embarked upon it, I swear to you upon the of the Spenta Mainyu and all that is true in the world that I have neither lied nor embellished any word of this tale, but sought to present it in its purest, most incredible form.

In any case, whether you choose to believe the story I tell of the statue and her potion, I climbed back up and hurried on my way, feeling stronger than ever. Before long the corridor ended in a wall, but the stones were loose-fitting and offered plenty of handholds which I used to scale to the very top. Once there I found the path end a few paces further ahead, where it fell very suddenly into a pit of sharpened wooden stakes. There was a long plank on the far side of the pit that was designed to act as a makeshift bridge, but there was no way to lower it from where I was. Steeling myself I walked to the very back of the ledge and then sprinted forwards, building as much speed as I could. As the edge of the pit neared I used my momentum to carry myself forwards and launched my body into the air, flew straight over the deadly trap and landing sound on the other side. I paused for a moment, looked behind me, and whooped with exhilaration before continuing onwards.

No sooner had I done this that my cry of joy was answered by one of triumph. Two of Jaffar's men came down the corridor towards me, swords in hand. Immediately I skidded to a halt and drew my own blade, a mad grin of excitement on my face. Still fresh from the affects of the mystical draught, I felt like I could do anything. The two charged at the same time, one with his sword held behind his back, preparing for an attack that would split open my head like a melon. The other was one pace further behind him due to the narrowness of the corridor and held his blade more warily in front of him like a spear. I counted the beats under my breath as they both got rapidly and at the last moment I stepped forwards and slashed across with my blade, cutting through the neck of the first guard and swiftly stepping back again. The other edged awkwardly but still swiftly around the dying body of his former companion and stabbed at me. I managed to jump backwards to avoid the blow. With a cry of rage he was on me again, and though I parried his attack the strength of the blow forced me to give ground. I could sense the pit of spikes looming behind me and knew I was between a rock and a hard place: the guard was skilled, but I could not afford to take another step backwards. I attempted to push forwards again, slashing at the guard's far side in an attempt to unbalance him but the soldier blocked the blow and our swords locked together.

A vicious retaliatory snarl crossed the guard's features as he pushed back hard with his superior strength. I fought against it with all that I had but could still feel him slowly gaining the upper hand, sending me backwards to certain doom. Suddenly I had an idea and swerved quickly to the side. Not expecting the move the guard was carried forwards by his own momentum. I aided with a forceful shove and the unbalanced man fell with a scream of terror into the same pit he had tried to force me into. The spectacle was unpleasant to say the least but I shall spare you the details. I winced at the sight and wished I could have given him a cleaner death but my actions could not now be undone. I turned around and went down the corridor that the guards had come from, sheathing my sword as I did so. The path continued for but a short while before reaching a dead end. This time I did not panic like I did last time: instead I reasoned the same as I did last time: if the guards had come down, there must be some way to get up. I searched across the wall, trying to find a loose stone. There was none. I jumped to attempt to shake any loose tile on the ground, but again nothing. However, as I tried with increasing frustration I jumped high enough to hit the low ceiling with my hands. A tile there jostled slightly from the impact. I grinned to myself in relief as I jumped into the actual tile, sliding it back.

No sooner had I done so than an armed guard dropped through the hole and swung with his weapon towards my head. More for shock than anything else I fell to the ground and the blade went above my head. Acting quickly I kicked upwards, hitting a place that I myself would very much not enjoy being kicked. With a yell of pain and outrage the larger man stumbled back while I drew my own sword and regained my footing. I was by now sick of fighting and wished just to be rid of this infernal dungeon. I was struck by an idea: I should finish this as I did the last one. I took a step back and adopted a defensive stance, beckoning my opponent forwards. He remained where he was, but I could be patient. Finally tempted by my inaction into a grievous error the man charged forwards with a yell. I parried his blow with my sword but at the same time quickly swerved out of the way, leaving him to run into the wall behind me. Not losing pace, I jumped and caught the edge of the hole in the ceiling and hoisted myself up before he could recover.

Once up I calmly turned and lifted the loose tile and waited until the fingers of my enemy appeared on the edge. At this point I rapidly slammed it back down into its proper place, taking grim satisfaction in a crunching sound and the scream of pain that followed. With fingers like that, he wouldn't be in much of a position to follow me up. However I didn't completely trust myself on this and quickly turned and walked towards the nearby gate. Almost the moment I had stepped through it, I felt the floor lower underneath me in a way I was now used to. With a loud slamming noise, the gate crashed shut behind me, its spiked ends driving into the holes in the ground allotted for them. With a shrug I continued on my way. There would be no pursuit.

I quickly reminded myself of the fact that I had not much time left, and I broke into a jog to speed myself up. This was nearly another fatal error, but this time I have no-one to thank but my own self that I saw the spike trap on the pathway before running straight into it. Immediately I slid to a stop, only a finger's width in front of the snare as the spines shot up suddenly from the ground. Had I noticed it one moment later, those barbs would have skewered me like a shish kebab. Instead I grinned the maniacal, daredevil grin that I had only developed a few moments ago at having cheated death once more. With the spikes now stationary, it was a simple matter to ease my way through them without even a scratch.

After climbing up another ledge I finally found myself standing before the ornate door that would take me higher, and hopefully out of this forsaken, empty pit forever. However it remained closed. Not to be cowed so easily, I immediately began to look for the switch, and found it. The only problem was that the walkway to it had long ago fallen to pieces and left a three-storey drop onto solid stone in its absence. I was starting to expect this sort of thing constantly: it was almost as if some external force was mocking me by throwing as many fiendish obstacles into my way as it could. I walked back until I was level with the door and brushed my hands against my trousers in preparation. Then I breathed deeply and closed my eyes for a moment to concentrate.

Reminding myself that I was in a great hurry, I opened my eyes again and sprinted forwards as fast as my legs would carry me. For a second time I counted the beats under my breath to judge the exact moment to jump, and launched myself forwards from the very edge of the path. There was a brief, exhilarating moment as I flew through the air, but I was brought back to reality when my feet landed on the stone that then lowered underneath me. Without missing a moment, I skidded around and leaped again over the gap, this time just barely managing to stand on the other side. For a second time I began to climb up the staircase, taking me ever closer to Sherherazad


	5. The Captain of The Guard

**Chapter 5: The Captain of the Guard**

Sheherazad stood on her balcony and looked over the city in twilight. Below her was a starscape of torches and window-lights. Azad never slept, and the streets were crowded with people. Yet not one of them knew what a horrible plight their princess was in. None of them could help. Come morning they would find their city suddenly in possession of the Vizier.

In her despondent mood, the princess wondered how much most of those common people would care. One ruler was exchanged for another: so what? Life went on. It would always be pretty much the same existence for them: a never-ending struggle both with and against the elements and each other to survive. She wondered how many would care if she should leap off the balcony right now and deny the Vizier his chance of killing or marrying her. "Courage" The princess said to herself, as her father had taught her. He would want her to stay. He would never allow her to give up. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned from the railing and walked back inside her gaze drifting, as it was now constantly doing, to the hourglass. It seemed almost impossible to believe that barely half an hour had passed since the original proclamation of her doom.

The princess slumped onto her bed and stared with an empty face at the vaulted ceiling. Her father would be proud of her, if only he was here. She would see this through to the bitter end. But she would not, would never marry that conniving old man. She wondered what Kyashahara was doing now…

As if in reply to the thought, she heard the echo of a horn: someone was sounding the alarm, awakening the palace itself. She sat bolt upright and ran to the balcony, looking out. There seemed to be no change: no army at the gates, no besieging force, nothing to provoke any kind of surprise on behalf of the soldiers. But the sound gave her hope. Maybe some of the guards remained loyal to her father and had rebelled? Maybe some virtuous stranger was attempting to inform the town of the plot within the palace? Perhaps… Could Kyashahara now be coming to her?

No, that was silly. Hope was needed, but delusion was not. She had to keep a clear mind.

And yet… the picture of the outraged prince, sword drawn, charging down the corridors of the palace towards the Vizier and her bedroom stuck within Sheherazad's head.

The Vizier looked up from his book suddenly the moment he heard the horn blast. Immediately he grabbed his staff and stood upright, walking briskly out of his study. No sooner had he done so that he spied his lieutenant, Khaveen already running towards him.

"What is going on? Who has sounded the alarm?"  
"Word from the dungeons, sire. The Prince of Persia has escaped." The Vizier sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "That boy is really vexing me."

"I shall see to it personally sire."  
"Yes…" The Vizier said slowly, nodding. "Yes, get the guards onto it immediately. I want him captured if possible, dead if not. Under no circumstances are you to allow him to reach the princess. Now hurry. I have some surprises of my own to prepare for him…"

I ran. I ran and I ran. While the sound of a horn blowing nearby echoed through the halls I ran. From stairs to hallways, foyers to balconies, balconies to stairways I ran. I had at long last made it out of the dungeons and back into the lush, brilliant halls of the palace proper. There were surprisingly few guards here, though I noticed a few signs; blood on curtains and carpets, broken weapons, blocked passages, that seemed to suggest that the Vizier's seizure of the palace had not been too easy or without loss on his part. By the looks of it, though, there was now not a single man or woman in the palace who was still loyal to the sultan or the princess: I clung to the hope that there were more in the dungeons, otherwise even if I did manage to reach Sheherazad it would be a rather pointless gesture.

Naturally, especially after I heard the horn blast sound, there were those that came to accost me, but in the wider spaces of the palace I was able to evade or flee from them for the most part. In the odd narrow hallway or before I door I was forced to fight for my life, many of such struggles being close calls, but having got thus far I was now driven on by a kind of madness towards one goal alone: to reach Sheherazad, to see her smiling face. I also noted that the men seemed reluctant to kill me: I had seen no archers, and many had attacked rather feebly: I thanked my stars countless times for my royal birth and the fear it instilled in the Vizier, but I knew it would not last forever, and I needed to make good use of it. I ran.

Emerging from yet another staircase, the door sliding shut behind me, I stopped to gather my breath for a moment. I knew that time was still pressing, but there was no chance I could keep up my current pace and yet still survive the thousand perils of the palace. I knew where I was now: I was in a circular plaza at the very base of the living quarters. I was so very close to my goal now, and utterly elated as I realised it may yet be possible to achieve it. Then I heard footsteps approaching.

I stood, turned and drew my sword to look down the corridor. Looking genuinely ominous in the black-and-red uniform of the palace guard Khaveen, the Captain, came striding towards me. He had escorted me through the palace whenever I had visited: I had thought him a good and honourable man, and likened him favourably to myself. It seemed my faith in him had been horribly misplaced.

"Prince Kyashahara," he said with a bow as he neared me, "No-one can doubt your courage or your tenacity at having come so far in so short a time. I thought you to be a strong man, a man of resource: rather like myself. It seems my faith in you was well-placed. But you're tired. You still have a very long way to go. There are dozens of my finest troops now standing between you and your goal. I am here. If you surrender now, I guarantee your survival and safe return to Persepolis. But if you continue, I will be forced to carry out my orders and kill you. I do promise, though, it will be an honourable death: swift and merciful."

Seeing him there shook my conviction that I could survive. A second time I felt the grips of black despair reach me, while at the same time another part of my mind searched for a reason to continue. It found one: "And Sheherazad?" I asked.

"Her fate is in her own hands. It does not concern you: she will have no suitor. Find another wife."

I experienced then what men call an epiphany. I realised what it was that drove me on other than desperation and stubbornness, what force kept me going: I loved Sherherazad. I could not bear the thought of her dead, or of myself alive and without her, knowing that I had not done everything in my power to prevent it. I shook my head: "Only three days ago I'd have accepted your offer Khaveen. Now I cannot."

"I am sorry to hear it. We shall settle this here and now. No outside help, no cheap tricks: just you and I, man to man, blade to blade."

I had not the time to argue further or to say anything, so in response I advanced with my drawn sword. Khaveen quickly unsheathed his in one smooth movement. My heart pounded: I was already tired (though the brief pause had allowed me to catch my breath) and this captain was not. I was younger then he, but he more experienced than I. The odds were strongly against me, but there was no way in heaven or on earth that I would have allowed myself to have come so far only to turn back now. It would be all or nothing.

I attacked first with a yell, stabbing forwards furiously at Khaveen before he could entirely prepare himself. Though caught by surprise, he blocked the blow and threw it back, leaving my guard wide open. As he stabbed I jumped backwards. The captain did not pause in his attacks for a moment: he ran, advancing rapidly forwards, slashing again and again. I backed away as fast as I could; stumbling over loose stones, occasionally clumsily diverting a blow that otherwise would have been fatal. I could feel the wall behind me coming rapidly closer, almost see my life slipping away from me. I tried to counter-attack, to retake the offensive, but Khaveen swatted the attempt aside with ease. The looming presence of the wall was barely a metre from my back: I was between a rock and a hard place.

But, impossible as it may seem, I had learned some things in the last thirty minutes. Perhaps this can be explained by the fact they felt like a lifetime. One was that there was always a chance of victory, even in the most desperate situation. The other was that my fast reflexes were useful in swordplay for more than just blocking attacks with my own blade. I knew that I was no match for the guard captain in any conventional fight: I had to do something unexpected. I immediately jumped backwards, towards the wall, braced my feet on the vertical stone and used it to launch me forwards, sword held out before me.

Khaveen was shocked, but his instincts allowed him to parry the attack, sweeping the blade away. I barrelled into him around the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending us both onto the hard tile floor with me on top. I heard a loud crack of his head against the ground and his sword dropped from his hand. He looked concussed: his eyes were on me but unfocused, but his hands were already moving to try and push me off. I raised my sword above me with both hands above my head, and then bought it down into his.

A sprinkle of blood went over my clothes, and I closed my eyes at just the right moment. I would have really preferred not to have done that, but I knew I could not allow him to follow me if he was bent on killing me. I got up, picked up his dropped sword to save me the trouble of wrenching out my own and having to look at he ruined face, and went up through the doors and up the stairs.


	6. The Mirror

**Chapter 6: The Mirror**

How long had it been now? How many precious minutes had slipped past since I had first heard the news of the Vizier's despicable plot from the dungeons? How much longer would it be before all hope had utterly deserted me? These thoughts went through my head, but they were without serious substance. I was in no mood or shape to spare myself such luxuries, even if I had wished to.

At the top of the first flight of stairs I had encountered no guards, something which confused me, but now I did find a rather unusual obstacle on my path: a mirror was now over the narrow doorway, set firmly into the walls at either side with no room to move around it. This had never been here any other time I had been to visit Sheherazad: how did it come to be here now? I was momentarily puzzled, but then realised I did not have the time. I moved a few paces backwards and ran forwards with a yell, covering my face with my arms and ducking.

I felt then the most curious experience: time itself seemed to slow down for a moment. There was no hard impact or sharp shards as I had expected: rather, it was almost like jumping through a bubble: the impact felt like that on water, but there was no liquid on the other side. I landed uncertainly and stumbled, spinning around to look behind me. There was my reflection looking back at me. But then it suddenly smiled, and jumped into the air, beyond the top of the mirror. I walked to the glass: there was no longer any image of me in the mirror-image of the corridor: it seemed to have vanished. Unnerved, and filled with trepidation, I yet had no option other than to continue moving.

I had by this point come to know and recognise the signs of the palace's traps easily. Thus it was that I saw the slight groove in the floor and roof in front of me, and stopped only inches in front of it to watch as two huge, razor-sharp metal blades sprang from floor and ceiling simultaneously, meeting at the middle. Had I been less vigilant, I would have been a most grisly sight. The two blades then separated at the middle and both began to withdraw with a clinking noise like that of springs: I stepped through them as soon as they had parted enough to allow me to do so. Almost immediately two guards came at me from a room beyond the corridor, denying me a moment's peace. Fortunately the narrow space of these halls came to my advantage yet again: they could not attack me at the same time. I unsheathed Khaveen's blade and parried the blow that came towards me, throwing the sword away from the guard's body and leaving his guard wide open, which I exploited and stabbed him. Khaveen's blade was very high quality, as sharp as a razor, made of excellent steel and very well looked-after: it impaled the man with ease. I placed my foot upon him and wrenched it out, kicking the spluttering body towards his companion. The distraction allowed me to advance and slash at him: both hand and the sword that gripped it fell uselessly to the ground. He grabbed the bloody stump of his wrist and screamed, giving me a chance to slash his left knee and then run: with a leg like that and without a sword hand, he would be in no shape to pursue.

I carried on and soon came to another flight of stairs: just one more after it and I would be at my goal! But no sooner had I reached it as I was greeted by a most fantastic sight: standing there already, grinning mischievously at me, was my double. I was struck dumb by the sight, and stopped in my tracks. The man way the perfect image of me, even bearing the same prisoner's clothes, even with the same scratches and wounds I had gained from making it thus far. He laughed once and stepped backwards unto a pressure plate. The gate to the stairs slammed shut before my very eyes. The spell was broken: I rushed forwards and slammed my fists on the closed door and cursed at the top of my voice. But there are few gates in the world which open from such provocation.

There was another corridor out of the room that I could yet take, but I had no idea where it would lead me in the end. However, it remained the only path that was open to me, and so it was the path that I took, muttering under my breath a ceaseless barrage of curses at myself for not reacting fast enough. I could feel the precious time slipping through my fingers as I ran, finding no way up, my mind tearing itself apart with questions. Finally, once I had rounded the tower, I saw another, narrower stair at a dead end. I breathed a sigh of blessed relief and made my way onward. But when I reached the base, there was my mirror-image again, his hand on a lever on the stair's wall: once again I was momentarily frozen with shock. With a smile he waved goodbye with his free hand and tugged on the lever with his other. The ground beneath me gave way: the floor swung downwards. My cry all but drowned out the sounds of my own laughter echoing from above me…

I could by now barely see at all, the only source of light being a dim glow coming through the trapdoor above me that was rapidly diminishing. I could just barely perceive the narrow walls of the pit, and by some blessed instinct I thrust out my arms and legs. My hands and feet braced against the stone walls and skidded across them, slowing my descent. They are few things I can say that can properly express the feeling that this created, other than: it hurt. But this does not quite do it justice. I screamed as I could feel the friction tearing the skin from my palms but I did not move them. Gradually, ever so gradually my fall slowed until eventually I stopped entirely. My arms and legs shook with the effort of keeping myself suspended as I was, so I glanced downwards to see what landing was promised for me. The floor was not a long drop at all; indeed my feet were almost on top of the rusted metal spikes that lined the bottom. I could see a dusty skeleton laying there, its armour rusted through, a spike coming through its empty eye socket. Some ancient attacker of the palace: who knows how long it had lain there? I decided that dropping down would not be the best course of action, so the only way I had left to go was up.

I looked up. Far above me was the light of the trapdoor. There was simply no question: I began to climb up, bracing myself against the two walls with my bleeding hands and feet.

Once again, I am left with few words to adequately describe my ascent to the reader. My hands were torn and bleeding, my arms shaking, but still I continued to use both to support my weight as I climbed ever upwards towards the light. Three times I slipped and fell, and was forced to slide to a stop again. How long did it take? I cannot begin to guess, for it felt like hours. I am not in the least ashamed to say that tears were streaking my face even before I finally, with quivering limbs, hauled myself out of the hole and lay on the cool, hard tiles. There I lay panting and feeling my limbs hang by my side like dead weights, my mission forgotten. I felt as though I had climbed out of hell itself. I closed my eyes.

When again I opened them, I found myself before a bridge that stretched far off into the distance. The opposite end was lost in heavy fog. The supports of the bridge were as tall as human towers, and it was held by chords so thick that I would have only just been able to wrap my arms around them. I set off to walk across it.

For hours and hours I walked across its steady surface, listening to the gentle whistling of the wind and creaking of the enormous structure. Eventually though, I came to see another walking towards me: an indistinct shape in the fog. As he neared, I saw that this other was me: my mirror image. How had he come here too? My hand moved warily to my sword, and I noticed him repeat the gesture.

Eventually we reached the same place and stopped, both seemingly unsure of what to do. It was then that a carving on the floor of the bridge caught my eye: there very same symbol I had seen upon the fountain that I had drunk from, which had reassured me to its goodness. I dropped to read it, as my image did too. We both read aloud what we saw:

"_This I tell thee, I tell thee truly: A great artist indeed has constructed the light and the darkness, sleep and waking, morning, noon and night. These were created together and cannot exist apart_"

We then, the both of I, looked up into our eyes.

It was at that point that I awoke and sat up, suddenly finding myself once again in the corridor of the palace of Azad. I panicked immediately: how much time had passed while I had been out? Was the hour run, and Sheherazad dead? How would I know? What was more, as I stood up and looked around, the staircase where my double had stood earlier had now vanished: there was simply a wall there instead. I began to wonder if I had taken leave of my senses, and perhaps the reflection did not exist at all. Had the stress and exertion driven me mad? But then I saw that the trapdoor I had climbed out of remained open in the floor beside me. Maybe the staircase was a secret passage? In which case, there had to be a way to open it. I looked all around, but could see no sign of any lever or button. I jumped in desperation, hoping to maybe jostle something on the ground, but was then struck with an idea and pushed the roof. Sure enough, the tile moved inward at my touch and the wall slid aside to reveal the stairs, now devoid of my other half. I desperately ran up them. Maybe I was now too late? But there was no other option open to me except to hope…

The stairs were uneven, narrow, and dark. I was moving too fast for much caution and often stubbed my feet or momentarily lost my balance, but did not pause to consider such things. Even if I had not run out the rest of the hour, I certainly would have precious little time left. Such a strange hour it had been. In the space of this night it seemed the entire world had been unmade and now I, who had once been a prince, was now some sort of spirit or machine whose sole purpose was to reach Sheherazad's bedroom.

After a short time I emerged from the passage, pushing a sliding door out of place. I then emerged behind a pillar into a place I never thought I would reach: the grand hall which served as the entrance to the Royal Chambers. I was very nearly at my destination.


	7. The Palace

**Chapter 7: The Palace Quarters**

Already waiting for my arrival were three men, all wearing the armour of the royal guard: either money had proved of more worth then these men's words, or they had slain the original bodyguard and stolen their equipment. They each had swords almost as fine as the one that I held myself, as well as a wooden shield and their armour. They looked fresh, whereas I was exhausted. There were three of them and one of me. Any hope I may have had for secrecy was gone: they had heard the door open when I entered. What was it that I did? I screamed.

All three of them looked rather unnerved, and I do not blame them: I must have looked a sight. I was bloody, my clothing torn, my hair matted to my head with sweat and my eyes lit with a desperate fire. Maybe they were also thinking that here in front of them was a man who had slain a score of their companions and made it from the dungeons to here in such an incredibly short time, all on my own. Two of them began to step backwards as I drew my sword and rushed forwards, still expressing all of my desperation in a single unintelligible shout. The first man, the one who held his ground, raised his shield to deflect my blow, almost cowering behind it. Without thinking, I jumped as I neared him and kicked it with both of my legs. The shock caused him to tumble backwards and trip, and myself to land on the tiles on my back. Not noticing this, I rolled straight onto my feet again in time to parry the blow of one of the other guards, both of whom had gathered their nerve. Still not thinking, my arms seemed to pilot themselves to bring my sword over and parry the blow of the other guard while it was only inches away from my heart. I was forced to give ground.

Encouraged by this, the guard who had struck at me first of the pair raised his shield and ran forwards with a yell. I spun out of his way, leaving him charging air, and ducked underneath the sweep of the second. Had he not had a shield this would have left his guard wide open: as it was I could attempt only a clumsy stab forwards that he stepped backwards away from: it made contact but was blocked by his armour. The guard who had stood his ground was now on his feet and running towards me, as was the guard who had run past me before. I waited for a beat, trying to think of something to do, and then dived desperately and slid across the tiles between the legs of the guard in front of me. He stepped backwards again and spun around to face me, while the two running forwards ran into each other. The pause of hesitation was what had allowed this to happen, but it had been entirely unplanned: clearly the great angel was watching over me, for whatever reason.

I rolled over quickly, as the other guard was now standing over me and I parried his downward thrust. At the same time I kicked him with both feet in the abdomen, forcing him to stumble backwards into his companions who were only just recovering themselves. I stood up and stabbed instinctively forwards, straight through the stumbling guards armour and into his stomach. I put my foot on the man and pulled my sword out, kicking him backwards: his two companions stepped out of the way to let him fall. As they did so I stepped forwards and slashed at the one on the right, scratching across his neck, and then turned to parry the blow of the other. He pushed forwards, pushing me backwards, then ran forwards to capitalise his advantage. He slashed at my own neck: my head ducked somehow almost without my intending it to and I stabbed at the centre of the man's chest. Again Khaveen's excellent sword pierced through his armour, and again I pulled it out immediately.

I blinked, and seemed to wake up. The guard I had stabbed first was now kneeling, his hands clutching at his stomach, his eyes on his companion with the neck wound, who was now dead. He looked up at me in terror and dropped his sword on the ground and began to shuffle backwards desperately. The other wounded guard looked up at me, but I stamped on his wrist and pointed my sword at his face: he let his blade go, and I kicked in away. I then pointed with my spare hand at his shield. He understood, and with shaking hands took it off and gave it to me. I turned, and ran to the corridor which would take me to the Princess' chambers.

No sooner had I walked past the walls into this corridor then I saw the door at the other end, which led to the Royal Chambers, open. Through it walked my reflection, with a sword identical to Khaveen's in his hand. I watched as he strode arrogantly towards me, with a superior smirk on his lips. Somehow, I noticed, his hands and limbs had the same marks of dirt, sweat and blood as those that I had gained from climbing out of the pit that he had caused me to fall into. I frowned as memories of the strange vision I had had after that incident returned to my mind. Surely, since I had a shield and he did not, I would have an advantage and be able to defeat him? But then, what I read on the bridge had nothing to do with conflict…

My reflection was still advancing and I had to make a decision quickly. I decided at this point to trust the grace which had kept me living to this point. I dropped my sword and recently-acquired shield, and walked forwards to meet my double. His expression changed almost instantly from one of pride to one of confusion and hesitation: he dropped his blade as well and with it seemingly gave up any hope of fighting or killing me. We both broke into a run: I am not entirely sure why, but it simply seemed the right thing to do. I realised at this point that my reflection truly did seem to reflect me: when I sought to confront him, he sought to confront me, and when I considered peace, he did as well. Neither of us stopped or slowed as we neared each other, and indeed ran straight into one another. I felt the same kind of curious sensation as I did when I had run through the mirror in the first place: as if we were both made of water, and flowed into each other. When I had my bearings once more, I saw that my reflection had vanished entirely. I turned, retrieved Khaveen's sword and the guard's shield, and then continued on my way, my head swimming with thoughts over the strange events.

It was because of this that I only remembered the trap at the end of the hallway at the last second, and skidded to a halt. Too late. I felt the tile depress under my foot, even as I desperately stepped backwards. The walls on either side of the tile met each other in an instant, what must have been a tonne of masonry slamming into where I had been standing less than a second ago. My last second memory had saved me from being suddenly, and completely, crushed, but it had not been enough to entirely move out of the way: my left arm, with the shield still on it, was caught between the two pieces of rock.

Reader, I cannot properly describe the pain so I shall make no attempt to. If you have in your past ever had a part of your body crushed then you understand what I felt: if not, then you cannot hope to comprehend. Suffice it to say that I screamed and fell to the floor even as the walls began to slide back into place. After such a wound I knew even then that my arm would never heal: the bones had been entirely shattered, as I could feel them like broken glass inside the sinews, threaded amongst the nerves and ruined muscle. The shield that had been upon it was shattered into splinters, which even if they did chance to drive into my arm would not have been felt over all else anyway. As the stone slid back my limb was a sight I could not bear to look upon: there was no longer any semblance of the order or natural ingenuity that bones give to a form. All was bent out of shape and laced with streams of blood. My vision swam. How on earth or in heaven I managed to maintain consciousness at that point I have no idea. I offer you no explanation, reader, as I have none myself, save that perhaps for that one hour I was, as I had suspected earlier, no longer a thing of flesh and blood, but rather made of gears and spirit alone, a body which was only being held together by force of will.

At that time, standing on the balcony of her bedroom and with a mind filled with tumult and anxiety, Sheherazad cast yet another glance back at the hourglass. There was only a pitiful few sands still remaining in the top bulb, and they were swiftly draining away. She outright refused to let the Vizier have his prize, and yet… Maybe if the horn had not sounded she would jump, here and now, and be at peace. But the truth of the matter was that it had. When all hope is lost, then there is finally acceptance and endings for people of Sheherazad's wisdom, but that horn was a trumpet from heaven, a message from above telling her to still maintain hope. She could hear, though not quite see due to the angle of her balcony, a commotion at the palace gates: the people of the city had also heard the horn, and something else, perhaps some evidence or word of the treachery was striking them into a frenzy. They seemed to be trying to gain an entrance into the palace, to storm its gates. With nigh on all the guards killed by Jaffar during the insurrection, they might yet succeed.

And still, as often as it was chased away by her rational thought, the image of a vengeful Kyashahara, sword in hand, rushing through traps and guards alike continued to surface in her mind. What was the cause of the alarm in the first place, which seemed to have brought more trouble upon Jaffar's cause then aid? The entire world had gone mad over the last month, Sheherazad was sure of it: her father's absence, meeting Kyashahara, the Vizier's insurrection, his final ultimatum, and now this? It seemed as if absolutely anything could happen in this strange new world and, indeed, everything was.

Almost, it seemed, in answer to that thought, Sheherazad then heard a distant thump and a scream. Someone must have set off the hallway trap. That voice… Surely she was imagining things, but it seemed… Her eyes were drawn once more back to the hourglass. There was only a minute left.


	8. The Final Minute

**Chapter 8: The Final Minute**

I stumbled on. Half-blind with pain, half-dead (or so it felt) with exhaustion, my feet continued to carry my wrecked body onwards, ever onwards, towards that final, intangible goal. I turned a corner as I had learned during my three visits to Sheherazad's chambers, slowed to avoid and then walk through the spikes that I knew would shoot up to impede my progress, and finally looked up to see that elegantly carved doorway, which I knew would be there. And so it was, unguarded and partially opened. Had I been in anything remotely resembling a fit state of mind, this would have caused me alarm, but at the time it seemed only fitting that after all my hurdles I should find this final goal waiting for me.

I broke into not so much a run as a faster shamble, my mind filled with thoughts of my final goal. Sheherazad, in all of her radiant beauty and sparkling wit, her startling green eyes and her confident smirk as if wondering what had kept me so long. She was the only way I could stay alive: my one last hope of salvation. I pushed open the door.

Is it not only natural, that after all my hardships and toils, I found the final, idealistic goal after which I had sought to be other than what I had expected? Is it not indeed a grand metaphor for life itself, that after all of our work and suffering we find that what we thought would be a paradise has the same faults as what we left? Looking back, I find that I can even laugh upon the poetic beauty of such an idea. At the time, laughter was so driven so far from my mind at the sight that it ceased to exist entirely.

Sheherazad was indeed inside, but her back was to me. Behind her bed the wall had slid back to reveal a secret tunnel. Grabbing her by the arms, pinning her biceps to the side, was a large grim-faced man in the apparel and armour of a palace guard, like those I had fought outside, with another standing in front of Sheherazad, his sword raised above his head. The Vizier was nearby, stooped and leaning on his staff of office, a smirk of triumph on his face. Sheherazad was squirming, trying to break free of the grip of the man and indeed making it exceptionally difficult for him to hold her. At the centre of the room was an hourglass, with only a few seconds left.

At my entrance, everything stopped. The only evidence I have that time itself was still moving was the fact that the final grains of sand left the top bulb and floated down to the second.

Sheherazad was the first to move she ducked and managed to break free of the shocked guard's grip as he turned around to see what everyone was looking at. I didn't think: of its own accord, Khaveen's sword shot forwards and found the base of his neck, driving right through it and out the other side. As he fell forwards and the other guard looked at him, aghast, I drew my sword out and struck again at his face. He dropped his blade and fell backwards: I stepped forward and thrust Khaveen's sword for the very last time.

No sooner had I looked up that the Vizier had reached me: he moved far faster then I would expect of someone his age could manage: it seemed all of his impotence was little more then an elaborate sham to catch people off guard. He thrust his staff behind my ankles with the ease of long practice and tripped me to the hard tile floor, then raised the heavy head of it high. Through my rapidly diminishing vision, I could just see a vengeful Sheherazad rise up behind him with the hourglass in her hands, and smash it over the back of his head.

**Epilogue: A New Dawn**

And it is there, most patient reader, that the hour ended, and with it the tale that is now being recanted and, somehow, exaggerated even further then its already incredible truth across the whole of the world, from Egypt to Assyria, from Macedon to Punjab. The tale of that single hour in which all laws on earth seemed to be revoked, and the impossible made common-place.

Sheherazad's suspicions of the riot were mostly correct: the citizens had seen my entourage slaughtered, had heard the alarm horn sound, and had awoken the various princes competing for the princess' hand who had not yet left the city: though horribly disorganised, they stormed the palace and diverted a substantial proportion of Jaffar's exceedingly small forces to attempt and hold them off. Due to the ingenious design of the palace itself, they achieved this for some time, but there were in the end too few, due to the vast majority being killed off in the two battles to take the palace from the loyal guards, and to capture me and kill my retainers. In addition, such men were working with hope of vast wealth and power that Jaffar had promised them: when word reached them of his death, what was left of them attempted to flee. The majority were caught and later executed for treason.

With concern to the incidents of Sheherazad's bedroom, which I chronicled as I experienced them, there is perhaps need for some clarification. The guards that had been stationed outside the door to her room had been the same that confronted me in the entrance to the royal chamber, possibly while debating whether to continue guarding the doors or to escape. Those stationed in the secret entrance, however, remained loyal to Jaffar (for what reason we will now never know). He came to kill the princess earlier then planned: he had become concerned about me and about the rioting, and knew she was too much of a liability. He hoped to tell the crowd the lie he had planned: my foolhardy storming of the castle, and her suicide. He entered via the secret entrance, bringing the guards in with him. However, as I have chronicled, he was not successful. Though more fit then we had expected him, Sheherazad's blow knocked him unconscious for sufficient time for help to arrive, at which point he was arrested and later publicly executed along with his followers. All of his long scheming and best-laid plans came to naught through, it must be admitted, a series of amazingly fortunate coincidences and in a literal sense incredible events.

As one may expect, my stay in Azad continued a little longer then might be expected, not least because I needed to be attended by the finest physicians in the city. My arm was, as I expected, beyond the aid of any mortal: I had it amputated, as keeping it as a useless appendage would only hamper me. Besides this, Sheherazad was now ruler of Azad and, as was in her power, decided to give herself far more time to choose a suitor. She confided in me, in our many discussions after the event, that she did not wish to simply give away all of her power to her husband and turn to a boring life of bearing heirs. I swore to her in response that I would give away anything on earth if she were to be my life, and power over a city that I did not own anyway would be a very small price indeed. We were married within two months, and I have remained true to my word, thought, sadly, my father grows ever more frustrated because of it.

And now I commit this record to the palace of Azad itself, which I worked so hard to journey through. My only hope is that, when this palace is but a ruin buried beneath the foundations of another, that one day some person may stumble upon this record and know of what it was that happened here at this time, and be heartened on whatever hard journey of their own that they face, knowing that I was successful in my own.


End file.
